


Just a Game

by Fragged



Category: Stargate Universe
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-23 00:49:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4856849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fragged/pseuds/Fragged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young and Rush play a game of strip chess.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a Game

**Author's Note:**

  * For [no-more-pawn](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=no-more-pawn).



He's probably too drunk for this, Young thinks as Rush takes his queen and gives him a triumphant look. 

He bends down to strip off his socks – his boots already put to the side when Rush won their last game – and wonders how much longer this will stay just a game. Just a way to relieve stress and challenge each other. 

He's pretty sure Rush is feeling the effects of the alcohol more than he is. He _must_ be, because he weighs approximately thirty pounds less than Young does and they'd drunk the same amount. But then, the stark line of Rush's throat and the wicked curl to his lips keep distracting Young to no end. Make it impossible to play the game to his fullest potential, even more so than the alcohol in his bloodstream. 

So yeah, Rush is probably drunker than he is, but Young has less pieces of clothing to gamble (six, to Rush's seven), and he's pretty sure Rush isn't nearly as distracted by him as vice versa, and dammit, the man is still completely clothed while he has had to shed his boots and socks already. 

Then again, Rush's move was reckless. He'd taken Young's queen – probably under the impression that Young doesn't understand this game as well as he does – and within three moves Young has Rush's queen and then within another two he has him at checkmate. Rush looks different without his vest and his boots. 

Young doesn't ask if they should stop playing – mostly because he doesn't want to, but also because he knows that's not what Rush wants to happen either. Rush wants to beat him, fair and square. See him humiliated and naked and flustered beyond belief. 

But that's not going to happen. Not if Young has any say. 

The next game, Rush loses his socks and his upper shirt and Young loses his jacket, and they both look different than usual. Much more vulnerable. 

“You sure you wanna keep going?” he asks. Rush raises his eyebrow so high Young wants to reach out and feel if it's even real. 

“What, you scared of losing, Colonel?” 

Young snorts and shakes his head. “Just looking out for you, Rush. Wouldn't want you to feel like I'm taking advantage.” 

“As if you could,” Rush says, placing the pieces back on the board with a scoff that doesn't sound nearly as dismissive as it usually does. 

Young feels his heartbeat pick up as Rush takes white and opens the next game. The rules are simple: one piece of clothing for losing the queen or the game – and when Rush takes his queen Young curses silently before stripping off his shirt. 

Rush doesn't look amused, though, as much as he looks shocked. His eyes roam over Young's naked chest, and suddenly Young feels like maybe he isn't the only one feeling this inappropriate attraction, after all. Maybe he can use it to his advantage. 

He keeps his face passive, leaning his chin on his hand as he continues playing the game, but when Rush is about to catch on to his strategy Young lifts his arms behind his head and stretches with a small moaning sound that could easily be dismissed as a yawn. When he opens his eyes to look at Rush, the man's mouth is hanging slightly open, and Young curbs a smile as he motions at Rush to make his move already. 

It works. Rush makes his move – a bad one – and Young has his queen within another three turns. 

It might be one of those double-edged sword things, though, because now Rush is taking off his shirt, and Young has a hard time keeping from staring. He's never seen Rush like this before. Bare-chested. He'd never known the color of Rush's nipples, or the minuscule dusting of hair on his chest, and damn, it's distracting as hell. 

Rush checks him, and then he checkmates him, and Young is worried he's going to get hard before either of them gets naked as he unbuckles his belt and slides off his pants. He's in his boxers now, and it's not like it will be possible to hide it if his arousal starts pooling down low in his cock. 

He thinks of baseball, of his grandmother, of the tentacled aliens they'd encountered a few planets back, until he's reasonably sure his dick will stay right where it belongs as Rush sets up the chess pieces again. 

It's not too late to back out. It's not too late to say this has been fun, to concede that Rush has won, and to send Rush back to his own quarters. It's not too late, but Rush's cheeks are kind of flushed – with victory or with desire, Young isn't sure – and Young can't imagine willingly stopping them on this slippery slope of attraction they're currently gliding down. 

Still, he wants to win, to see Rush naked before anything else happens, so he tries to ignore the form of the man in front of him and redirects all his efforts into their final game. 

When he takes Rush's queen, his heartbeat pounds heavily in his chest and his palms go damp as Rush reluctantly undoes his belt before taking off his well-worn jeans. God, seeing Rush in his underwear shouldn't be this hot. It shouldn't make his cock twitch, and it shouldn't make sweat bead up on his brow. He needs to concentrate, because Rush slides his bishop across the board with the confidence of a man who knows what he's doing. 

Rush gives him a hard look when he's settled on the couch again, and Young feels his throat go dry at the way Rush flicks his eyes down towards Young's cock before glancing up again and explicitly palming his own dick through his underpants. 

Fuck, Rush is playing dirty, and Young can't deny the sight of Rush touching himself like that makes his own cock grow erect much too easily. Much too quickly. Christ, he wants to feel Rush against him, wants to taste him, wants to make him come...

He curses himself when he makes a hurried move that will cost him his rook, and the smirk on Rush's face tells him Rush knows it.

He's not going to give in, though. He's not going to let Rush distract him like this without putting up a fight of his own, so he leans back against the couch and lets his legs fall open with a small noise of contentment. His boxers tent out unapologetically, and Young feels the corner of his mouth quirk up at the way Rush's eyes widen slightly as he points his gaze down at Young's crotch. 

If Rush wants to fight dirty, dirty is what he gets. By now it's not about the chess anymore. By now it's not about having some simple fun, about winning a bet that might make the other one uncomfortable for a day or two. No, by now it's about who folds first. Who can push the other one far enough to escalate this into actual sex. It's obvious they're both more than up for it (figuratively and literally), and it's clear it's going to happen. It's only a matter of time. 

But he's not going to give in first. He's not. 

Instead, he lets his fingertips trail languidly over the fabric of his underwear, up the length of his cock. He lets a small groan fall from his lips, and it's only partly for effect. Fuck, touching himself like this, with Rush's gaze on him, is seriously working for him.

Rush's eyes flick from his cock to his face, and Young is pretty sure his blush is darker than it was before. Rush's entire demeanor settles into a picture of dissatisfaction, and he crosses his legs to hide his groin from Young's view. 

“You're cheating,” Rush says. 

“You started it,” Young answers with a slight shrug. He's letting his fingers inch into the waistband of his boxers, now, and he relishes the way Rush's eyes keep glancing between his hand and his eyes, seemingly against his will. 

“Your move,” Young says, when Rush does little more than swallow thickly before balling up his fists and rubbing them up and down the sides of his thighs. 

“Fine,” Rush bites out caustically, focusing his gaze on the game in front of him. Young feels something nervous skitter down his spine when every bit of wound-up tension seems to fall from Rush's shoulders. He moves his knight, and Young feels his heart rate flutter up at the accomplished little smirk on Rush's lips. Shit, that means Rush thinks he has the upper hand. And by now he's in so deep there's no way he can let Rush beat him. 

He has to pay attention to the chess pieces in front of him, to the strategy he'd been preparing, to the trap Rush is undoubtedly trying to lure him into, but _fuck_ , Rush is leaning back now, staring at him with heavy-lidded eyes. He has uncrossed his legs and his hand has slid into his underpants, it's moving steadily over his stiff cock, and the breathy sound Rush lets out sets something aflame within Young. It's a shaky ' _oh_ ', like Rush is surprised by what he's feeling, and damn it, Young's fingers itch with the desire to touch him, to launch himself over the coffee table between them and push Rush down into the couch until he makes that sound again, until he's panting and groaning with how much he wants it. 

_Jesus_. 

“Rush,” Young says, ignoring the thick rasp in his voice. “You're not seriously jerking off right now.” 

Rush's eyes glitter at him brightly, and he makes a low sound as he thrusts his hips up a little, bites his lower lip in a way that can't be interpreted as anything but sexual. 

God, Young wishes he could see what Rush's hand is doing, wishes Rush wasn't wearing those fucking underpants anymore. Because right now his imagination is driving him insane, and he can't concentrate on the game when his mind keeps going in ever tightening circles of 'fuck' and 'Rush' and 'yes'. 

“Make your move, Colonel,” Rush says, a slight rumble to his voice. 

Focus. _Focus_. He can do this, he can ignore the man across from him. He can ignore the sounds – the shuffling of fabric and the sliding of skin and the hitched little breath that tells him Rush just did something he really enjoyed – and fuck, _focus_! 

Young squints hard at the chessboard, and suddenly he sees it. He sees what Rush is planning to do – and oh, the hard stab of victorious pride is almost as good as the way Rush opens his legs a little wider and lets his head fall back against the couch for a second before dazedly pulling himself upright again. His hand has stilled now, and there's a blush that starts on his cheeks and disappears into his beard only to reappear on the skin of his neck, all the way down, mottling his chest. Shit, he looks ridiculously good. 

“Colonel,” Rush rasps, and Young feels his breath stop in his throat when their eyes meet – Rush's gaze so dark and so full of lust that Young's cock fucking _twitches_ with it. “Quit stalling.” 

Young swallows hard and flicks his eyes back down to the chess pieces. Right. Oh, right, he had a plan. The corners of his mouth quirk up, and when he grabs his rook and slides it over the board he pins his stare on Rush. He can see the exact moment Rush realizes what's happening, and he's reasonably sure he doesn't imagine Rush's hand giving an almost involuntary jerk inside his underwear. 

“ _Shit_ ,” Rush hisses, and Young feels his mouth settle into a full-blown smirk. 

“Hmm,” he says agreeably, leaning back against the couch and gently touching the damp spot on the front of his boxers. God, he's dizzy with how much he wants to touch Rush. 

Rush's eyes trail his movements. He avidly watches Young rub small, slow circles over his fabric-covered dickhead with his two forefingers, and Young thinks the look on Rush's face is turning him on more than the teasing friction on his cock. 

“Fuck, you are such a fucking cheater,” Rush says, tearing his eyes away from Young's groin and sending Young a heated glare. Young just laughs, a little breathy, and bites his lower lip in what is undoubtedly a less appealing parody of how Rush did it earlier. 

The way Rush's breath hitches makes him think that maybe Rush doesn't agree. 

Rush's hand is still in his underwear but he has completely stopped moving it, and Young lets his own fingers trail down the length of his erection as his eyes roam over the taut cotton covering Rush. He can make out the stark globes of his balls through the cloth, full and heavy, and the bony impressions of the knuckles of his fist. He can even – and here he has to take a deep breath to calm himself down, because Jesus, even just this small amount of stimulation from his fingers feels like it might send him over the edge – he can even make out the ridge of Rush's dickhead where it's pressing against his underpants. There's a small damp spot there, and God, this is really not how he thought tonight was going to go, but at this point he's beyond complaining. 

Suddenly Rush moves forward and uses his bishop to take Young's remaining knight, and before Young even has time to assess whether that was a brilliant move or a really sloppy one, Rush is leaning back against the couch and talking to him. 

“This,” Rush says, and his hand is moving again, pressing flat against his cock, fingertips brushing up against his balls. Rush tilts his head back and uses his free hand to push some of his hair out of his face. “ _Ah_ , this is good. Watching you touch yourself got me so hard, Colonel.” 

And Jesus, talk about cheating. 

“My prick's dripping with how hot it's making me, _fuck_. It's...” Young watches with his heart in his throat as Rush brings down his free hand and dips a finger into his underwear, smoothing it over the head of his cock, even if Young can't see. A clear thread of precome clings to his fingertip when he retracts his hand, snapping about an inch later, and Young nearly chokes on his own spit as Rush brings it up to his mouth to suck it clean. Rush's eyes slide shut for a second, and when he looks back up at Young his gaze feels like it's scorching him from the inside out. “Makes me wonder what you taste like.” 

And goddammit, he can't... there's not... he can't keep doing this, he feels like he's literally two seconds away from coming and he hasn't even _done_ anything yet. 

“Rush, Jesus,” he groans, doing his best to keep utterly still. 

“Yes, Colonel,” Rush says. He's smirking now, but there's something a bit wobbly about it. “Christ, just come over here already.” 

And that's it, he doesn't care about the game anymore, he doesn't care who wins. All he wants is to feel Rush against him, and Rush wants that too, and within moments Young is up from his seat and straddling Rush's thighs, dragging his face up for a rough and messy kiss. Rush makes a noise, somewhere between a moan and a breathy exhale, and Young doesn't think he's ever been this hard. 

“Fuck, Rush, I want—” he pants, letting his fingers run through Rush's hair as Rush's hands map out his chest, rubbing his thumbs over Young's nipples and looking altogether overwhelmed by lust. 

“Yeah, yes,” Rush mumbles, leaning forward to suck a kiss into Young's throat. His hands roam around to Young's back now, sliding lower until they hit the waistband of Young's boxers and then pushing inside them until they're cupping Young's ass. Rush squeezes and yanks him forward, and Young almost loses his balance at how strong his grip is. Jesus, _yes_. 

Rush takes advantage of his slight loss of balance by pivoting him to the side and shoving him down until he's lying on his back on the couch. Rush is on him in a second, pushing in between his legs, fingers scrabbling at the edge of his boxers to pull them down and off, and Young doesn't really know what is happening but then Rush is stroking him, smearing his precome all over his shaft slowly, smoothly, and _God_ , yes, yes, please, _yes_. 

“Rush,” is all his mouth wants to say. Rush is on his knees, looking down on him, and Young moans when Rush swipes two digits of his free hand over the head of Young's dick and very deliberately sucks them into his mouth. He closes his eyes as he fellates his own fingers, and Young feels like he might come if Rush doesn't cut it out soon. “Jesus, _Rush_!” 

Rush smirks at him when he lets the fingers fall out of his mouth, and Young isn't quite sure what it means, but then Rush is bending down, opening up and swallowing Young's cock like he does this all the time. Young throws his arm over his eyes and lets out a sound he will deny for the rest of his days as Rush sucks him inside and makes everything feel like it's on fire. Fuck, Rush's mouth is hot and slick and his tongue rubs over him in little flicking moves and it's _Rush's mouth_. 

“Oh my God,” Young hears himself moan, and then he feels Rush press his wet fingertips against his ass, and what – God, he hasn't ever... But Rush doesn't care and he doesn't ask, he just pushes both fingers into him at once. Young squeezes his eyes shut tight and bites his bottom lip hard. He isn't sure why he's doing nothing to stop Rush, and he isn't sure why it doesn't hurt more – he'd always figured it would, but it just feels full and stretched and it makes his skin break out in an instinctive sweat and a trail of ticklish goosebumps. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. Rush!” 

Rush sucks harder and pushes his fingers in deeper, crooks them a little bit and rubs them against something inside Young that feels real damn good, and suddenly he's on the edge – right on the fucking edge – and all he can think to say is, “Rush, I'm gonna—I'm gonna...” And then he's coming, arching off the couch as Rush swallows him whole. As Rush keeps driving his fingers into him. 

He's shaking, he's fucking _trembling_ with how good it feels. Every nerve ending feels like it's charged with electricity. Dark spots dance in his vision. He thinks he might be saying Rush's name over and over again, but the roaring in his ears takes precedence. 

After what feels like hours his cock finally stops pulsing, and Rush's sucking mouth becomes too much to take, Rush's fingers working inside him too hard to ignore. 

“Rush,” he pants, pushing Rush's head away. Rush stills his hand but keeps pressing into him, into that spot, and Young hears himself make a keening sound he's honestly never heard himself make before. 

“I win,” Rush rasps at him with an accomplished little smirk. Young doesn't even know what he's talking about, so he just lets his head fall back against the couch and huffs out a few hard breaths. 

“...You alright?” Rush asks eventually, sounding a little less certain now. 

“Gimme a second,” Young says, attempting to get his breathing back to regular and trying hard not to clench around the fingers Rush still has inside him. Fuck, for a quick second he wonders if he could go again, because every slight movement against that spot inside him makes little flares of arousal lick through his belly. But then Rush pulls his fingers out and moves to sit back a little. 

“You look good like this, Colonel,” he breathes, pulling Young's attention back to his face and then to his crotch, where his hand has once again disappeared into his underwear. The damp patch on the front of his underpants has grown considerably, and Young feels his balls twitch. “All flushed and fucked out.” 

Rush's hand is moving over himself now, still hidden behind the fabric of his underwear, and no, Young decides, that is not acceptable. 

“Rush,” Young mutters, reaching his arms down to grab a hold of Rush's thighs. “Come here.” 

Rush gives him a look that Young can't quite read before taking his hand out of his underwear again and bending forward, placing his hands on either side of Young's head. His face is very close now, and Young can feel his breath against his cheeks. He's not sure what makes him do it – it feels inordinately risky, despite the fact that Rush just... well – but he gently brushes some of Rush's hair back behind his ears before pulling his face down for a soft kiss. 

Rush moans something unintelligible against his mouth, and Young smiles at the way Rush allows him in easily, eagerly. God, he can taste himself on Rush's tongue, and that's always been one of the things he loves most about blowjobs. That knowledge that someone ( _Rush_ ) took him into their mouth, sucked him deeper inside, loved his taste enough to swallow it all down. 

As Rush angles his face to drag the kiss harder, more heated, Young lets his hands slip down his neck, down his back, until he can hook his fingertips in the waistband of Rush's underwear and pull them down over his ass. Rush makes a little noise into his mouth and Young feels a hot surge of fondness for the man. It's not as disturbing as it would have been three years ago. 

“Rush,” he says, pulling away from the kiss with some difficulty. Rush doesn't seem to want to let him go at all, and again Young feels something warm skitter down his spine. “Take that off and get up here.” 

It takes a bit of maneuvering, but some less than elegant moments later Rush is straddling his chest, naked and hard, knees shoved under Young's armpits. He's looking down at Young with a curious and excited cast to his face, like he isn't quite ready to believe Young wants to do this. Young lets his hands roam up Rush's thighs, up his sides and over his chest, mapping out Rush's skin, all the places that make Rush's breath hitch. All the places that make him squirm. Now that Young's own cock is soft and sated, now that he doesn't feel that overwhelming need to come anymore, he can enjoy and appreciate this for what it is: exploration. And he's always loved that. 

“Colonel,” Rush groans through gritted teeth from above him, and that one word is laced with so much need that Young feels a little guilty for wanting to stretch this out, for wanting to keep Rush on the edge of bliss until he loses his mind. 

“Alright, yeah,” he says, grabbing Rush's cock and angling it down to his mouth. It's hard and red and a drip of precome bubbles up from the slit and threatens to fall, so Young surges forward and licks a broad stripe over Rush's head before taking the whole tip into his mouth and sucking him deeper inside. 

God, it's been a while since he's done this, but if the noises Rush is making are anything to go by it's a skill he hasn't unlearned by lack of practice. He opens his throat and uses one of his hands to pull Rush in closer by his ass cheek before swallowing around his cock. 

“Jesus, _fuck_!” Rush cries, whole body jerking forward. He's bending over Young now, arms hooked over the armrest as his hips make little aborted thrusts into Young's mouth. “Oh Christ, Young, I can't... I have to—Jesus!” 

Young thinks he would've found Rush's inability to form a full sentence amusing if it wasn't so hot – he already knows he's definitely going to be getting off to the memory of this in the future – but for now all he wants is for Rush to come down his throat, to lose all coherency. And maybe, secretly, he wants Rush to be impressed with him as well. He grabs Rush's ass with both hands and lifts his head so he can take Rush in better, and starts sucking his cock in earnest. 

The sounds Rush makes are beautiful – surprised and delighted and making Young's skin prickle with lust.

There's always something thrilling about this, about the vulnerability that comes with having someone's stiff cock down his throat, and Young wonders why he's been content not doing it for so long. Because right now... right now he thinks he could spend the rest of his life laving attention on Rush's dick and die a happy man. 

“Young,” Rush moans, his hips starting to jerk a little erratically. Young hums in agreement and speeds up his rhythm as he kneads the flesh of Rush's buttocks between his hands. “Fuck, I'm, oh, _oh_ — _Young_!” 

It doesn't come as a surprise when suddenly everything is overflowing with Rush's climax, but Young still only barely manages to pull back fast enough to keep from choking. He swallows easily, coaxing small spurts of come out of Rush with little laps of his tongue until his cock is completely drained, and continues massaging Rush's ass. 

Damn, he feels good. That thick, sluggish ache in the back of his throat. Knowing that it is Rush who did that... Yeah, he could definitely get used to this. 

A hard shiver works its way up Rush's spine, and he makes a short, bitten-off mewling sound before pushing himself up and pulling his cock out of Young's mouth. He shimmies down until he's straddling Young's hips, and then he simply lets himself slump forward until he's draped over Young, face turned up to nuzzle into the skin below his ear. 

“God,” he breathes out, before pressing a sloppy kiss into Young's neck. Three seconds later, he's asleep. 

It might be one of the best compliments Young's ever gotten after sex, and he smiles through his yawn as he closes his eyes. He feels relaxed and accomplished – Rush is warm and heavy on top of him, the alcohol in his system has gone from dizzying to merely tingling, and he's going to sleep. 

~

The next day he wakes up with a slight headache, but it's kind of overshadowed by the fact that he has a naked Rush on top of him, snuggling into his shoulder. He's not sure what is weirder, waking up cuddling with Rush, or waking up feeling Rush's erection poke into his hip. Both seem to be part of his current reality. 

Rush is still sleeping, though, and for some reason Young doesn't feel compelled to wake him up right now. He lets his eyes cast over the coffee table in search of some water, and his gaze falls on their chess game. He squints at it a bit, trying to determine who would've won, and God, Rush is such a fucking shit. He feels his lips quirk up into a grin, because yeah, Rush would've definitely lost that game, so instead he'd opted to let it escalate into sex, to make Young come first, and hell, Young can't even be annoyed by that. 

“Morning,” Rush says, and Young hadn't noticed him waking up, but he's glad Rush's first reaction isn't to freak out or to shove him away. 

“Hey,” he answers, looking away from the coffee table to stare down at Rush's face. “How're you feeling?” 

“Good.” Rush's lips settle into a slight smirk before he rocks his erection into the hollow of Young's stomach a little. “Could be better, though.” 

Young huffs out a laugh and opens his legs a bit wider so Rush's cock presses into his own. “I bet it could,” he murmurs into Rush's hair, letting his hands canvas the expanse of Rush's back and shoulders. 

“You know you never would've won that game,” he says, rolling his hips languidly into Rush's. When Rush looks up at him he's a bit taken aback by how beautiful the man looks like this, cheeks flushed and eyes still a little soft with sleep. Young nods at the chess set, and Rush follows his gaze before burying his face into Young's chest with a little snort. 

“I still won, though,” he says, when he's looking at Young again, and Young thinks he might love that bright spark in Rush's eyes. He tightens his arms around Rush's shoulders and flips them over on the couch. 

“Well,” he says, leaning forward to kiss Rush deeply. He lets his hand skim down until his fingers can curl around Rush's cock. “Time for a rematch, then.”


End file.
